


light the night up

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotionally Repressed, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Epiosde: s02e08 The Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29340027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: It was kind of funny how, even under all those layers, whether blankets or armor, he was so easilyseen.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	light the night up

Even muffled beneath the covers, Mayfeld could hear Mando's breaths coming fast and shallow. He was willing to bet he was flushed and sweating, too, even if it was too dark to see anything beyond the soft curves of his silhouette. He didn't know Mando's damage, aside from the sitch with the little green guy, but he'd seen this plenty of times before, back in the Imperial army barracks. Dozens of battle-hardened soldiers tossing and turning, kicking and screaming the place down. He'd seen it before Operation: Cinder, and he'd sure as all hell seen it after. They never talked about it the morning after. Nor the one after that. A lot of them were probably still there or someplace else, trapped in their own heads, and not talking about it.

Mando talked even less than those guys, though Mayfeld had learned to listen for what he didn't say. He narrowly missed getting a faceful of knuckles when Mando swiped at nothing, sighing as he shuffled closer and draped an arm over his waist, trying not to think too hard - about that, or about what happened at the refinery, or about Mando coming back after that marshal let him walk free on Morak. Whether that had been better than getting sent back to the Karthon Chop Fields was a matter of perspective, but he certainly wasn't about to turn down the offer of a ride out of there - even if that ride _was_ a gunship that made the _Razorcrest_ look shipshape.

Mando was quieter when he was awake than when he was sleeping. Just one of his many quirks, Mayfeld supposed. It was kind of funny how, even under all those layers, whether blankets or armor, he was so easily _seen_ . Of course, in his previous lines of work, Mayfeld needed to be able to get a good read on his team, or he'd have been a pretty shitty leader. Considering how the job on _Bothan-Five_ had gone spectacularly tits up, that thought _had_ crossed his mind, but he failed to see how anyone else could have had a better chance of keeping Xi'an or Burg in check...and as for Mando, well, he was another story, and luck wasn't a part of it.

"You awake, Brown Eyes?" He knew it was dumb, but the nickname stuck, even if Mayfeld hadn't seen his eyes again since that day. He turned away when Mando took the helmet off and they only ever fucked in the dark, under the covers. Mayfeld didn't mind. He was good at remembering faces, and he didn't need to _see_ Mando to picture the way he hollowed his cheeks while he was blowing him, or how his pretty eyelashes fluttered when he came. He didn't need to see him to kiss him.

"Uh-huh." His heartbeat was steady, his breaths slow and even. It was fairly likely he didn't recall much, if any, of whatever nightmare plagued him, and Mayfeld never asked. He'd talk when he wanted to. _If_ he wanted to.

Slowly, he slid one hand up towards Mando's face, listening for the subtle changes in his breathing as he followed the rough trail of stubble from his cheek to his chin. His body was nice and all, but imagining the flicker of anticipation in his bright, brown eyes when Mayfeld tightened his grip on his jaw and kissed him was even better. And picturing Mando's face when he wrapped the other hand around his cock? Well, that really _was_ something else.

Mayfeld stroked him slowly, the way he'd learned Mando liked, revelling in the little shudders and stutters in his breath each time he ran his thumb over the tip of his cock.

"That good for you?" Mando's forehead bumped up against his in a nodding motion, which Mayfeld figured was pretty enthusiastic for this guy. He kept quiet after that though, since Mando wasn't much of a conversationalist in bed (or anywhere else), and talking dirty to _himself_ wasn't exactly much fun. Anyway, there were other things he'd rather do with his mouth.

He kissed his way down Mando's throat and across the expanse of his chest, avoiding the nipples - he _didn't_ like that - and traced the raised outline of an old scar with his tongue. Mayfeld figured beskar must be as great as everyone seemed to think, seeing as how Mando had hardly any scars. He kept going, dragging his lips over the soft flesh of his stomach, and past thick, dark curls. His hand was still on Mando's cock, already smeared with precome, stroking lazily and letting his teeth graze against his inner thigh. Then Mando's hand was on his cheek, gently guiding him.

Mayfeld moaned around his cock as the tip nudged the roof of his mouth, then briefly brushed against the back of his throat, but the sounds had nothing on the barely-there noises slipping from Mando's slightly parted lips. He still tried to be quiet when they had sex, but Mayfeld heard every choked back whimper, every muted mutter of encouragement. He felt all the things Mando didn't - or _couldn't_ \- say in the firm grip of his hand as their fingers locked together, and in the way his fingertips skimmed over his jaw, then over the shape of his cock where it pressed up against the inside of his cheek.

That meant he was close.

Mayfeld just kept doing what he was doing, taking it slow and deep like Mando liked it, even when he was this close to coming in Mayfeld's mouth. He used his weight to pin Mando's hips down after a couple of involuntary jerks threw off his well-practised rhythm, and let him teeter on the edge for a good two minutes before he felt the familiar full-body shudder, and a thick, bitter warmth hit the back of his throat.

Just another thing they wouldn't talk about, the morning after. But maybe, just _maybe,_ the one after that.


End file.
